by K. Webster
Everyone nods, even Copper.
“This is justice and it will be served.”
More nods.
“We’re going to get her and I’m going to tell you how.”
I’m met with no more resistance. As it should be.
We’re brothers.
Until the end.
Even if it’s a fucking terrible journey.
Hadley
Magna has come by three times this week. Each time, more brutal than the last. He doesn’t seem to care that I completely go blank while he uses my body. To any sane person, it’s rape, but to me, I’m not present for it. If I escape in my head, it didn’t happen.
Nope.
I didn’t have my dead boyfriend’s father inside me. Three times. Did not happen.
It’s funny how easily I can convince myself. In the darkness of my room, I can almost pretend I’m somewhere else. Somewhere warm and safe. Like Koyn’s bed. In his arms.
A happy sigh escapes me.
There are worse men out there than Koyn.
Like my father.
My father, who apparently didn’t think fucking his daughter was enough sin for this lifetime, negotiated my pussy to the highest bidder.
I shudder violently, ignoring the crusted cum still on my thighs. At least with good ol’ Daddy, he uses a condom. Magna is probably infecting me with God knows how many diseases.
The hot shower seems so far away. I want to crawl over to it, but I’m too tired. Sick to my stomach. Broken in the mind. Depression eats me from the inside out. No matter what food they bring me, I turn my nose up to all of it.
I just want to die.
A hot tear leaks from my eye, but I don’t have the energy to swipe it away.
Click.
No.
Magna was just here.
Right?
Or was that yesterday? Hours ago? Minutes ago?
My mind spins as I try to remember.
“Is it still a fairy tale if the dragon comes for the princess instead of a prince?” a cold, evil voice growls, making my hairs stand on end.
“Dragon?”
Fingertips slide up my bare spine. A shiver trembles through me. His hand strokes my hair before gripping me hard and pulling the roots. I stifle a cry.
“Seems you got yourself nice and punished,” Dragon observes. “Daddy took away all your shiny toys.”
“Koyn,” I croak out. “Please.”
“Don’t worry,” he croons in a deceptively calm and soothing voice. “I’ll take you right to him.” He wraps the sheet around me and scoops me up with surprising gentleness. “Let me out,” he barks out through the door.
Someone opens it and Dragon steps through.
“What the fuck?” Payne growls. “She’s a mess.”
“Most princesses are when they’re in their tower,” Dragon explains like he knows me. “To their loyal subjects, they’re perfect. We know better, though. PG is far from perfect.”
I squint against the harsh light and burrow my face into his shoulder. I don’t care what sort of cruel shit he spouts so long as he takes me to Koyn. Away from Magna. Away from my father. Safe.
We descend the stairs quickly and Dragon stops outside of my father’s office. For a brief moment, a whine crawls up my throat as I fear he’s going to hand me back over to my dad. Instead, he makes a clucking of his tongue.
The tapping sounds I’d heard when I first arrived go silent. I crack open my eyes and peek over at the men in the room.
Not Daddy.
Thank God.
Koyn sits in Daddy’s chair like he owns it, fucking around on his computer while Bermuda stands behind him. I’m used to Koyn’s hard stares, but I’m not used to Bermuda’s indifference. He always smiles for me or looks as though he feels sorry for me.
Not this.
Not such cold emptiness.
Something’s wrong.
I start to wriggle in Dragon’s hold, but he’s too strong. He grips me tighter. Koyn barks out a bunch of quick, harsh commands that I’m too delirious to try and interpret. All I know is it has Dragon hurrying me out of my house and into the freezing January air. He carries me over to Copper’s truck. Copper hops out of the front seat and walks around to the rear passenger side door. He opens it and Dragon deposits me on the seat.
“Stay,” Dragon warns before closing the door.
I pull the sheet tighter around me and dart my eyes out the window. Sleet hits the windshield. Glancing around, I see several vehicles I don’t recognize. They didn’t bring their bikes here.
The heat blasts from the vents and I’m thankful for the warmth. I’m not sure when I ate last, and I’m feeling sick because of it. Bile rises up inside my throat. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and breathe through the moment of illness.
I just want to sleep.
I want to wake up to Stormy’s voice or Gibson singing. I want this whole return to my father to have been a horrible nightmare.
Blackness steals over me and I pass out.
Finally.
Warmth.
Soothing scent.
Someone stroking my hair.
Masculine voices are speaking in low tones, but I’m not afraid. I snuggle against the soft person holding me, inhaling the leather of his cut. The familiar expensive cologne. God, I’ve missed him. Absently, he strokes my spine with his thumb. His chest rumbles as he speaks to the other guys. I’m not interested in his words, just him.
Tears of relief flood down my cheeks. I want to cling to his chest forever. It’s the safest I’ve felt in a long time. His thumb runs up my back again and I let out a happy sigh. He halts his movement, stiffening.
“She awake?” Copper asks from up front.
“Yep,” Koyn grunts.
“Oh, goodie,” Dragon says with glee from the front.
Someone is on the other side of me, but I’m too weak to turn and find out.
“What now?” It’s Copper again.
Koyn lets out a sharp breath. “We get to the compound.”
My fingers fist the leather of his cut and I inhale his unique scent. Home. He’s going to take me home. To his home. Safe.
“I’m scared,” I croak out, hot tears rolling down my cheeks and soaking into his shirt.
“You’re supposed to be.” Koyn’s words are cold. They feel as cold as Bermuda’s stare earlier. As chilling as Dragon’s touch.
“I don’t want to be,” I whisper only for Koyn to hear.
“We don’t always get what we want.” He follows up his words with a gentle stroke through my tangled hair.
No more words are spoken.
I grow dizzy again and allow sleep to steal me once more.
Warm.
I roll toward the warmth licking at my skin and smile. Finally. Safe. I can feel it. The oppressiveness of my father and Magna is gone. I feel free. Weak, but free.
Cracking open an eye, I attempt to make sense of my surroundings. The fire in front of me blazes. I’m in front of a fireplace. On the carpet? No, a mattress. At Koyn’s house? I scan the fireplace and realize it’s not the nice stone one inside his home. This one is old and crumbling. I roll onto my back and stare up at the rafters of the dilapidated slaughterhouse.
Why am I here?
I curl my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Still naked but under a blanket. Not tied up to anything from what I can tell. Better situation than Hammer was in last time I visited this place. Still, it’s not right. Koyn came for me. I should be in his bed or on his couch or in his fucking arms.
Sadness washes over me, chasing away the numbness. The fire is hot and crackling, but the air in the slaughterhouse is bone-chilling. I sense another person with me and I wonder if it’s Koyn. Will he tell me what the hell is going on?
I try to sit up, but the room spins. So dizzy. So weak.
“I don’t feel well,” I croak out. “Water.”
Boots crunch on the dirty wood floors. Step.
Step. Step. Stop. I can feel an ominous presence looming over me. Shadowed. Angry. Large.
“Koyn?”
A golden god squats before me, normally passive features screwed into a scowl.
Filter.
“How you liking your new accommodations?” He flashes me a cruel smile. “Warm enough, Genworth?”
Genworth.
Not PG or Pageant Girl or Hadley.
“Where’s Koyn?” I demand, trying and failing to sit up.
His eyes narrow. “Out.”
“I’m thirsty. Hungry.” My eyes burn with tears. “I need clothes.”
He rakes his eyes over my form and lets out a snort. “Here, you’re no longer a princess. Your wants and needs aren’t above everything else. Here, Koyn is king. Here, you are under his command.”
“Let me see him then,” I hiss out. “He’ll take care of me.”
Filter rises and pops his knuckles. “Cute. He knows you were fucking Putnam. Saw him on the surveillance footage coming and going. You have his cum all down your legs.” He makes a repulsed sound. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
I’m stung by his hateful words. He was always the nice one.
“I…you don’t—”
“Save it for the big man,” he snaps. “You’re about to pay for all your sins.”
“What? What sins?” A sob catches in my throat. “Filter…”
“My shift’s over,” he grinds out. “Thank fuck.”
I wake to the scent of food.
Something savory and rich.
Barbeque.
My stomach revolts at the offending smell. Too sweet. Too disgusting. I whimper and crawl to the edge of the mattress. With a gag, I attempt to expel the contents in my stomach, which is nothing. I dry heave over and over again. Finally, I fall onto the makeshift bed, crying.
“Help.”
“Prisoners don’t get help.”
Prisoner?
“Payne,” I croak out. “Please. I didn’t do what Koyn thinks. I didn’t willingly f—”
“Eat.” His barked command is followed with the slam of a plate onto the floor beside the mattress.
One quick glance and I notice sliced brisket, potato salad, chips, a pickle, and orange fluff. With a weak hand, I reach over to stick my finger in the fluff. I lick it off my finger, thankful it doesn’t come right back up.
“Eat,” Payne orders once more. “I can’t promise when it’ll happen again.”
I wake throwing up.
Did they poison me?
Oh God.
My stomach muscles clench violently as I lose every bit of the food I consumed earlier. Tears leak down my face as I gag and heave. I’m dying. They’re killing me.
Why?
Because they think I had some torrid affair with the enemy?
Fuck them.
I need to get the hell out of here. But it feels like a useless endeavor. I’m being watched round the clock—this time by Katana. It was hard enough trying to get off Koyn’s property when people weren’t breathing down my neck twenty-four-seven. When I was healthy and able-bodied.
It feels like a pipe dream now.
I’m destined to die on a mattress in a slaughterhouse.
Cold. Hungry. Sick. Alone.
I wipe the vomit from my lips and turn away from the puddle of it on the bed beside me.
Death feels close and I welcome it.
Koyn
We don’t get much snow in Oklahoma, but when we do, the whole goddamn state closes down. It was a miracle we made it back from Dallas without getting detoured until the roads cleared. Copper drives like a bat out of hell. He would’ve found us a way back anyway.
My land is eerily quiet as I trek through the snowdrifts toward the trail that leads to the slaughterhouse. Gibson is on watch, but even if I didn’t know that, I would’ve guessed it by the sounds coming from the building. “House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals plays a haunting tune on his acoustic guitar. A dark lullaby.
Time to wake up, baby girl.
I slide open the door and step inside. The music dies down and Gibson stands. His features are stony. I get it. I really do. Babysitting fucking sucks. Lucky for them, it’s time to shake shit up a little, which means I’m taking over.
“I’ve got this,” I tell him with a nod.
Gibson, normally a playful and easygoing guy, clenches his teeth as though he’s trying to hold his words in.
“What?” I bite out.
“Nothin’, Prez.”
“Your attitude says fucking something.”
His nostrils flare. “She’s just a kid.”
“Genworth’s kid,” I remind him, squaring my shoulders.
He winces at the reminder. “I know. I just…never mind.”
Soft fucker. Always has been.
“Get out of here,” I grunt out. “Let me worry about all this.”
After a heavy sigh, he nods in resignation before exiting the slaughterhouse. The moment the door is closed shut, I turn to look at her.
The fire blazes bright and her small form remains curled up under a blanket. I can smell vomit and a pang of worry cuts through me before I have a chance to push it away.
She’s not Blaire.
I walk over to the mattress and nudge it with my toe.
“Wake up.”
“I’m awake,” she croaks.
Silence.
I’d expected begging and crying. She has to know we didn’t rescue her, we kidnapped her.
“Daddy’s little girl was nothing but a fucking mole, huh?” I taunt. “Had a scheme with your little fuck buddy, hmm?”
She doesn’t respond.
Truth is, I know this shit had nothing to do with her. She’s involved because she’s a Genworth. In last name. The information I found on Genworth and Putnam’s relationship goes back to when she was truly a little girl, which explains how a prissy rich girl got in with a kid like Junior. Their fathers were business partners of sorts.
And when her boyfriend was killed, she started letting his daddy dick her instead.
I think back to the times she tried to hurt me and throw in my face that she sucked Putnam’s cock. At the time, I’d thought maybe she had just been pushing my fucking buttons just to piss me off. It did. I hate that fucker and with her words, she opened that old wound. It’s been bleeding ever since.
I drag the chair Gibson had abandoned closer to her. He left a bottle of Jack, so I snag that before sitting down. It’s a shame this girl shares that motherfucker’s blood. She was a good fuck and one I might have actually kept around had the circumstances been different. I was an idiot to let my guard down and think I could enjoy sex and affection once again.
What a fucking lie.
Every part of myself that deserves such a thing died that day along with my family.
I unscrew the lid to the bottle and suck down a long, burning gulp. It heats me from the inside out. My stare roams over the exposed skin of her bare shoulder. Her pouty, but cracked lips. Those brown eyes that gleam with fury despite her weakened state.
“Thirsty?” I ask, offering her the bottle.
She shakes her head.
“Do you like Putnam’s cock inside you?” My words are cruel and filled with venom that stings. She’s not immune because she flinches.
“Fuck you,” she rasps.
“I did. And apparently, so has everyone else.”
Her brown eyes glisten with tears. I’m forced to look away because it makes my chest ache. Fuck her. I will not feel sorry for her. “What do you want from me?”
I take another swig of the Jack. “Everything.”
“You want to fuck me? Fine, do it.” She tosses the blanket aside, revealing her pale, bony, naked body to me. Bruises litter her thighs. Anger swells up inside of me for a brief moment, but I swallow it down.
Not mine.
Not Blaire.
Genworth.
I take a deep breath and then drink more of the Jack.
&nbs
p; “Cover yourself,” I growl. “I’m not here to fuck your skanky ass. I’m here to tell you a story.”
She jerks the covers back over her and glares at me. “I hate you.”
“Feeling’s mutual, baby girl.”
We both wince at my pet name.
Fuck.
I let out a deep breath and launch into my story.
“Before I was this”—I wave my bottle of Jack around me, sloshing some out onto my fingers—“I ran an international cyber security threat firm. I was the fucking best.”
Her brows furrow together. “Same as my dad?”
“Same, but better.” I’m not gloating. It’s the goddamn truth. “I made a lot of money because I could break into anything, which meant I wrote programs that could protect against anything.” I take another sip of the Jack. “I was in deep with the NSA. Life was good for me.”
Heaviness settles around us.
Black, cloying, suffocating.
“And then I walked in on the most horrific scene. A couple of fucking bikers had my wife and my daughter tied up. They were hurting them. They…” I choke on my words. “I went crazy and was knocked out. When I woke up, Ellie had been brutally raped and was dying. My sweet…fuck, my sweet baby girl was so upset and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.” A tear races down my cheek and I don’t bother wiping it away. “I watched Putnam rape my daughter. And then I watched as he stabbed her to death.”
Hadley’s bottom lip wobbles and her eyes are red as she silently cries. “I’m so sorry.”
Her words are a cold blade cutting through me. I sit up and stare at her with as much hate as I can muster, enjoying the way she flinches.
“Your fuck buddy Putnam was friends with your father. Am I right?”
She nods, her eyes sad with realization.
“I broke into your father’s network. I found everything. He paid Putnam to kill me and my family. To eliminate the competition. All so he could send his pretty little princess to every pageant she could ever want to compete in.” I crack my neck and glare at her. “How does it feel knowing you Genworths won? Was it worth all the fancy shit your daddy gave you?”
